


Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

by sariane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dancing, Holidays, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1979. 1995. Two different New Year's Eves, two very different people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a while ago as a relationship study. I'm not sure if it's fluff, exactly, as there is a fair amount of (understandable) angst involved. Enjoy!

_11:48 PM, December 31st, 1979._

One frosty New Year's Eve, Remus and Sirius get drunk, just the two of them, and talk about years gone by. The floor by the hearth of Sirius' drafty flat is warm, the fire not yet gone out, and the clock ticks steadily towards midnight. In the corner, Remus' secondhand wireless set crackles with Celestina Warbeck's screechy _Auld Lang Syne_ in front of a live audience. Neither of them want to get up to change it; their wands are dangerously out of reach for once.

There is a silence developing between them, thick and drowsy, that they keep dancing around. Remus fears that it will grow, and he glances at Sirius when he thinks he’s not looking, wishing he could read his mind. (Well, he could, but that would be a gross invasion of privacy.)

"It feels like we're already dead," Sirius says unexpectedly, his voice heavy with melancholy.

"Don't say that, Sirius," Remus replies hastily, thinking, _I’m too drunk for this_.

"But it's likely that--"

"Don't." With shaky breath, Remus reaches out to pat Sirius' hand. He's leaning back, using it to support his weight. Sirius flinches away from Remus' touch, shifting his position so he's kneeling in front of the fire. Remus lets his hand hang in the air for a moment before bringing his knees to his chest and hugging them securely.

"What if I was talking about the music?" Sirius tries to smile and turn it all into a joke, but it doesn't catch on.

"It's not that bad," Remus shrugs. He earns an incredulous look. "Alright, it's pretty bad." The wireless bursts into applause as the song finishes, and an announcer comes on to announce a few minutes left until the beginning of 1980.  Another song comes on, this one jazzier and fast, and Remus stares into the fire. After a moment he notices Sirius staring at him, and then realizes he's tapping his foot to the music absentmindedly.

Sirius stands up. He offers Remus his hand.

"Seriously?" Remus raises an eyebrow, making an extreme effort not to grin up at him.

"Serious as ever," Sirius smirks, glad to tell his favorite joke. His look turns imploring.

" _Couples_ dance to this song," he protests weakly. The imploring look changes, and now there's challenge in Sirius' eyes. Remus thinks, _what the hell, we're drunk already_. He tries not to think of how quickly the feeling will wear off when he's not actively drinking.

It takes a moment for them to find their feet, the firewhisky making them clumsy and slow, so that they stumble over each other’s feet for the first part of the verse. Sirius falls into the lead (had the Blacks’ ever hired a dance instructor?) and Remus allows his muscles to relax. One hand is still loosely held in Sirius', the other placed awkwardly on his shoulder. He's aware of the ghost of Sirius' hand on his lower back, steering him around the small flat, spinning around the worn furniture where the music leads them.

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron._

Sirius is the one to smile, to laugh first, and Remus quickly follows suit, shaking a little with the richness of it all. They trip over the edge of the carpet and Sirius steadies Remus. Sirius's hands tighten, one firmagainst his back and the other gripping his hand like a lifeline. They stay like that, still keeping a close pace with the music. It’s almost like flying.

_And if you do it right._

Remus wonders how this can be so much fun, how this can be so uplifting, how this moment with Sirius can make him feel so much better. For a moment he drifts back to their old days, days of joy that were not as fleeting as this. A smile creeps into the wrinkles of his face and even up to his eyes. He sees Sirius reflect his bliss. It's so strange to see that emotion there after so much gloom that Remus feels something hard in his chest – certainly not his heart – ache a little.

_I'll boil you up some hot strong love._

A blush creeps down his neck when he remembers that this is a love song, but Sirius doesn't seem deterred. Remus throws himself around a little more enthusiastically, managing to step on _both_ of their feet and sending Sirius into another fit of laughter. They both begin singing along, although at any other moment they would both deny that they know all of the lyrics.

_To keep you warm tonight._

The song ends with more applause, but they continue spinning, Remus staring up at Sirius' face with a stupid smile, Sirius' laughter finally fading. The countdown has begun on the wireless, crowds of people from the concert shouting, and they finally stop, freeze, look at the clock above the mantle, the seconds counting down. Remus feels some of the last effects of the firewhisky fade from his head, everything far too clear in contrast to Sirius. Who, now that he thinks of his single unfinished bottle, can't be as drunk as he is acting.

_Ten!_

"This is it," Sirius whispers. "Are you ready, Moony?" He doesn't release Remus, even though they've stopped dancing, but Remus finds, unsurprisingly, that he doesn't want him to let go.

_Seven!_

"Any resolutions?" Remus smiles, his pulse quickening, a blush spreading from his neck to his face. His body betrays him, as usual.

_Five!_

He watches Sirius' dark eyes flicker with reflections from the fire. He answers, "Maybe."

_Four!_

"Yes?" Remus asks bravely. He knows he should step back before he gives himself away, before Sirius runs, before something goes wrong; but he was a Gryffindor, so he stays.

_Three!_

"Well," Sirius' eyes are flickering away from his, and he begins to pull back, until Sirius meets his eyes and captures him there.

_Two!_

"I…" His heart is pounding in his ears over the cheering from the wireless, and Sirius' breathing is shaky and uneven, and the fire crackles in the background, and the clock ticks slowly, and Remus can smell sourness in the firewhisky and the fear and faint cigarettes on Sirius' breath as he whispers, "Remus, I--"

_One!_

Sirius presses his hand against the small of Remus' back and brings his head down to kiss him, calling stars into Remus' closed eyes and the flush back to his face. Remus' joints freeze up, until Sirius brushes a hand against his cheek and Remus melts in his arms. He won’t remember the exactly moment when he began to kiss Sirius back, to clench his fingers into his blue t-shirt and stand on the tips of his toes. He will only remember the kiss; Sirius’ lips and hot breath against him, better than dancing, better than flying. The clock chimes, the wireless explodes with noise and some faraway crowd singing, but Remus doesn't care about anything except the hand tangled in his hair and the stubble rough against his mouth.

"Happy New Year," Remus whispers when Sirius finally pulls away.

 

* * *

 

_10:26PM, December 31st, 1995._

Sirius is in one of his moods. He doesn't want to leave Buckbeak’s side, but Harry manages to drag him out and into the kitchen. Molly Weasley has turned on the wireless and they're listening to music and eating food in celebration of the New Year. Of course, with Molly around, it's hard _not_ to be eating food.

"Isn't it past your bedtimes?" he jokes to the crowd of youngsters; Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George all laugh.

"Isn't it past yours', old man?" a voice says in his ear, and he turns to see Remus. A small smile alights on his face that seems tame, but Sirius knows that it means all of the best pranks and plans.

"Remus!" Sirius exclaims, "Happy New Year!" Something rushes into his chest, something almost like happiness, and he hands Remus a butterbeer. Some of the kids offer cheerful greetings, too many of them involving the word "professor" to remind the pair of their age, before getting back to their business. Sirius feels an old resentment try to push the delight away. "I thought you were--"

"Dumbledore--"

"Forget I said anything," Sirius says quickly, casting away old worries. "I'm glad you're here, Moony." He smiles, thinking, _It's a new year. A new start._

"Happy New Year," Remus says with his unique subdued cheerfulness, and goes to say hello to Molly and Tonks and grab a pastry or two. Sirius watches his godson talking to the youngest Weasley, running his hand through his hair, laughing at her jokes, talking about Quidditch, making amusing comments and nodding at her wily replies. For a moment his vision flickers and he sees ghosts, James flirting with Lily in the common room party, butterbeer in their hands and rejection fresh in the air. The apparition passes, and it's Harry and Ginny again; Sirius feels _old_.

For a half hour he watches the teenagers, memories flitting in and out of his mind, until Nymphadora Tonks (he feels even older at the sight of her, wasn't she just Dromeda's little baby Dora a moment ago?) pulls up a chair and sits in it backwards.

"Wotcher," she mumbles, and holds up her amber bottle, toasting him.

"Firewhisky," he replies with a smirk and upwards quirk of his eyebrows. She squints at him. "It doesn't bubble quite the same way. Tried it enough to know." He winks.

"Don't let Molly see, she doesn’t like people to drink in front of the kids." Remus appears next to her with his own chair, and clinks his shockingly illicit bottle against hers.

"You two were quite the --"

"Tonks," one of the twins says, siding up towards them "Where did you get--?"

"There are too many rebellious types here! Can't get away with anything," she sighs in over-exaggerated exasperation and stands up. Her chair knocks over, and she blushes. "I should just call it a night."

Fred or George disappears back to the table of food, leaving Tonks standing awkwardly between Sirius and Remus. Her fingers tap against her chair as she sets it back on its legs.

"It's barely even 11 o’clock," Remus protests, but it hangs in the air, a little too late.

"No, I'm tired, and mum will be worried. I've been here half the day, keeping Molly company," she shrugs, and yawns.

Remus steps on Sirius' foot. Hastily, Sirius says, "you could stay in one of the bedrooms if you--"

"When I say 'mum,' I mean 'girlfriend,' Sirius," Tonks smiles wickedly and speaks in an undertone.

"You mean you're--?" Sirius' face drops into shock before he can control it; Remus turns to him with an exasperated expression, and her face falls, misreading their reactions. "I mean…not that…I just… _you_!" Tonks' challenging gaze drops for once, she turns away, and Sirius knows instantly that he's stepped on all of the wrong places at once because he doesn't quite know how to talk to people like he used to.

Something flares up in Tonks, however, and she shoots back, "Sorry, I thought you'd be okay with it, I thought you two were--" she stops shy of smiling and drowns her firewhisky in a single gulp, while Sirius turns bright red and Remus' face goes smooth and blank as paper. "I'll be off then," she says, in a painfully cheery voice, and rushes out of the room without saying goodbye to Molly or any of the kids.

"Tactfully handled," Remus sighs.

"Is she just out, then?" Sirius runs a hand through his long hair. "Why do I always ruin things? I just said everything that I always hated when …" he trails off and sits weakly in one of the abandoned chairs. "I didn't know she was gay," he continues to Remus in hushed tones, as his friend once again takes the chair beside him. He doesn’t know why he’s being quiet about it, but it’s probably because he’s afraid of Molly and her hasty judgments. "I mean, didn't I always say I'd keep an eye on the younger generation? So they could have someone to talk to where I didn't?" Sirius groans in frustration. "Of course, I muck it all up…"

"It's not your fault," Remus lies, "she's bound to be a little sensitive, no matter what. You know how the Ministry is about _everything_." Of course they do.

"But I thought she had a crush on _you_ ," Sirius mutters, fiddling with the hem of his robes, "and I was worried--" he stops suddenly, and mutters something unintelligible to cover his pause. He's thankful when Remus takes it all in stride.

"I remember when we were 13, and James figured out I had a crush on Xenophilius Lovegood," Remus chuckles to himself, "and then in Fifth Year, when I dated one of the girls in our year, and he came to me looking flustered asking if it was some overcomplicated plot to steal Evans." Their chuckles fade into silence over the old name, Evans, something neither of them have called Lily in so many years.

"Was it easier?" Sirius says in an almost whisper. "I always wanted to ask, and it seems stupid now, but was it easier for you?" He hesitates, but doesn’t give Remus time to answer before he continues, "Fourth year, I tried to snog James' face off before he shoved me away and asked me what the hell I was thinking." His voice doesn't sound sour, only low, so low that Remus can barely hear it over the laughter and music. "He seemed to think I had gotten him confused with _you_ …"

Sirius trails off and leans forward, resting his chin in his hands, glazed eyes staring at Hermione babbling nervously at Ron; Ginny, Fred, and George giggling at them and staring at the enchanted mistletoe above their heads. Harry is being compelled by Molly into eating another pastry or five.

“I don’t know. I was too busy worrying about being a werewolf that I forgot to worry about other parts of my identity. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it too hard, whether it was Xeno or Mary who caught my eye. Or…” he trails off. “It suppose…in the end…it comes down to following your heart.”

"Moony," Sirius laughs, "I didn’t peg you for a romantic in your old age.”

"Of course, James--"

"--James was trying to set us up," Sirius laughs, and he turns to Remus, hoping to see laughter in his eyes as well. He wants to talk about this, to bring up the subject, so maybe this time Remus will _listen_. "He saw that we were--"

"Sirius."

"--Lily caught on too, did you say something? And--"

"Sirius."

"--If Peter wouldn't have said something, I don't think--"

" _Sirius_ ," Remus hisses, his voice the closest to irate than Sirius has heard in a very long time. "That's all behind us."

"But, Remus, I've only just got you back," Sirius protests.

"We're not young," Remus replies. His hands fold in his lap and he looks out, as Sirius just was, at the party of teenagers. "I haven't loved anyone in 15 years. I'm not sure I know how to, anymore," he admits. It is only now that Sirius realizes that the firewhisky has done its work. There is no delirious giggling in their drunkenness anymore. But Remus always metabolizes quickly, so Sirius looks away awkwardly and watches the youngsters, waiting for it to pass.

By now, Harry has unsuspectingly joined Ron and Hermione underneath the mistletoe, causing Ginny and the twins to look extremely put out. Molly is half asleep in a chair, Crookshanks a ginger hairball on her lap. Sirius takes the moment to think and weave together his thoughts into some semblance of a conversation. Talking and listening are two very different things. He knows that now.

"Remus, I--"

"Sirius!" Fred (or is it George? Damn them both!) interrupts cheerfully.

"Yes?" He tries not to snap at them, but they don’t seem to notice they've interrupted a conversation.

"Harry tells us that you know something about the Marauder's Map," George (or is it Fred?) says in a curious tone. He hears Remus chuckle slightly beside him.

"Yes. Well," he smiles at the boys. "Moony and I here were just having a little chat about old times, ourselves. Pull up a chair." The twins look at each other and then Remus, their mouths slightly open, identical grins lighting up their eyes, and grab two chairs.

"Thanks, Padfoot," Remus smiles, the old glint returning to his eye, "I'm going to lose all of the respect I earned as their teacher."

It takes Harry about 5 minutes to notice they're telling stories involving his dad, and when the rest of the younger generation gather around the two old Marauders, Sirius feels a little less bitter. It's all been for them, after all.

*

The kids have sleepily stomped their way upstairs, Molly has excused herself to her own bedroom, and Kreacher is nowhere in sight. The wireless still plays, quieter now, mixing with the comforting sounds of the dying fire and two different rhythms of breathing.

"1996," Sirius whispers. He looks into the fire and listens carefully, to hear if Remus is really asleep with his head on the table or only dozing with his head stuck in the clouds. He's sure it's the last one.

The song playing ends and another begins, an old song, one that Molly probably loves but Sirius despises and adores all at once. With a subtle flick of his wand he raises the volume just above the sizzle of the fire, just enough to raise Remus' head with a gentle, "hmm?"

Sirius stands up too fast and the blood rushes to his head, making him see stars and spirals. He turns quickly anyways, nearly skipping to the table, his heart pounding with trepidation. He stops in front of Remus at the kitchen table. His head lies sideways on his arm, and his eyes seem to stare vacantly through Sirius (does he see the ghosts of this house, too?).

Sirius holds out his hand.

He doesn't know if he's just aroused his friend from dreaming, or if he's sweeping him into another dream, but Remus takes his hand. Sirius whirls him around tenderly to capture him between loosely laced fingers and a hand on his lower back. They drift together, then apart, together, then apart; feet dance to and fro and tread carefully, as not to step on each other. With the loss of their awkward teenage angles, they've gained grace in movement; that, or Remus has been practicing.

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron._

Remus offers him the first hesitant smile, a rare prize, and Sirius finds that his reply meets his eyes. Remus remembers that night from so long ago, and Sirius sighs in relief. It is good to see hope between them, to see proof that his memories are not folding in on themselves. The floorboards creak underneath them, and the house around them, but they forget where they are, twirling and dancing backwards through time.

_And if you do it right._

Sirius wishes this could be as much fun as it used to be. It's just something simple, it's just dancing on New Years, like they did in the last moments of 1980 (Or was it '79? Or ‘78?) All he knows is that they're older and it's dissimilar, but his chest still aches when he sees Remus smiling softly, just for him.

_I'll boil you up some hot strong love._

He remembers Moony's blush ( _Moony_! Oh, for them to truly be Moony and Padfoot again.) He remembers singing. He remembers drunken laughter. And that was 1978, he's sure of it, all awkward teenage smiles and the beginning of…well, the beginning of something. The Dementors didn't take all of his happiness away, especially when there was more agony than ecstasy left in those particular memories.

_To keep you warm tonight._

They spin and spin and spin, smiles almost faded, wrinkles settling in over once youthful faces, grey hair and exhaustion and grief and longing piles onto their skin and carves canyons, deep; the river of Time has arrived and it has ruined their happy lives.

"I don't think I ever told you properly," Sirius says in Remus' ear, as the music fades, "it was such a hassle back then. But, now, it's quite obvious. I love you." They come to a natural halt, with the end of the music and the sound of the radio signing off barely registering underneath their awkward, heavy breathing. Remus' eyes are trained downward, not at the floor, but at something in between. He's still very close, and Sirius closes his eyes, tenses up, ready for Remus to step away. "Do you--?" he means to continue, to say, 'want me to leave?' or something to that effect, but Remus silences him with the gentle touch of his lips.

He takes it like a question, and whispers on Sirius' mouth, "I never stopped," before Sirius swallows the words in a soft kiss. They stand there, cheek to cheek, mouth to mouth, hands clasped loosely, spinning very slowly on the spot. It could be minutes or hours or days, but the clock strikes early morning and they step apart, skin tingling and cooling as it meets the chilly air.

"I'm tired," Remus says. Sirius doesn't know if he means he's had a long day, if he’s bone-deep tired, or if he’s being metaphorical.

"It's late. Early," Sirius amends hastily. "We should go up to bed."

After a moment he thinks that he probably shouldn't have phrased it like that, for Remus sighs and says, " _Sirius_ ," in a tone that says that he's not quite ready yet.

"I just mean…it's late. You need to get some sleep." Since when did Sirius do any mothering? Remus nods, his eyes looking watery and dark, and Sirius draws his gaze away. After a moment, he takes Remus' cold hand in his once more and leads them out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The floorboards are creaky but everyone is quietly asleep, except for two cases of loud snoring coming from Ron and Harry's bedroom. Remus stumbles a few times, wincing from some wound or a bad leg or heaven knows what (how many injuries did he suffer in those 12 years that Sirius still doesn’t know about?) until they reach their landing.

Sirius pushes open the door to Remus' bedroom, hesitates, and kisses him gently before turning away to leave.

"Wait," Remus says, the words catching around his throat and making Sirius pause once more in the doorway. "Stay." Sirius turns halfway, considers. "Not-- not--"

"I know," Sirius says, closing the door behind him and nodding. He understands. He wants to take it slow, this time, to cherish every step, to get to know Remus again and be ready for the consequences, for the years they will have.

Together they strip down and crawl in between the cool sheets, chilled by the winter air. Sirius is warm and Remus is so cold (was he always this cold?) so he holds him, tracing his scars until they both fall asleep in a warm tangle of limbs.

 


End file.
